


this is war

by loyaulte_me_lie



Series: return of the queen [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Bickering, Crack, Fellowship shenanigans, Gen, Genderswap, Possibly Pre-Slash, Pre-Gigolas that is, Trolling, embarrassing stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:48:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23634124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyaulte_me_lie/pseuds/loyaulte_me_lie
Summary: Aragorn and Legolas know far too much about each other’s embarrassing childhood stories. Mutually assured destruction ensues.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Legolas Greenleaf
Series: return of the queen [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1291232
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	this is war

**Author's Note:**

> ok, this is just a little thing spat out by my brain upon chatting to my friend this morning and also someone's hilarious headcanon about Thranduil's nickname for Legolas.
> 
> (Intentionally playing fast and loose with canon, roll with me here).  
> No warnings, but usual drill if you spot anything.

It is, Legolas thinks darkly, entirely the fault of the Hobbits. Well, Merry and Pippin – he should be fair and assign blame where it’s due - Samwise and Frodo are somewhat more bearable. They’re bored, which is the first thing he finds baffling. There is nothing boring about the endless fluctuations of colour in the green-gray moorland, the way the light is a molten slick down the fractal-sharp lines of the mountains, the sky flat and open and silvery with cloud. Mirkwood might be home, but spending so much time in the cool gloom of the forest has given him a deep and abiding appreciation for other kinds of landscapes. It’s almost _offensive_ that everyone can’t notice what he can, that they’ve resorted to telling each other ridiculous tales of their childhoods for the entire afternoon. Gandalf has gone on ahead, so it’s not even as if Legolas can take refuge from their idiocy in the quietness of one who has been alive longer than even he.

As they settle down to make camp for the night, even Gimli and Boromir have joined in. To be fair, Boromir’s are more of the ‘and then my brother and I got in trouble for trying to abseil down the walls of Minas Tirith’ kind which is a lot more interesting than squabbles over food and poor excuses of adventures that always end up home in time for tea. He’ll also never _ever_ admit it, but Gimli’s stories of growing up in the court of Erebor are also deeply fascinating for reasons he knows well but doesn’t yet want to admit to himself. Despite the reams of cousins Gimli seems to have, he didn’t manage to get himself in half as much trouble as Boromir did.

The conversations dies down as the others eat, but as soon as they’re done, Pippin starts it up again. Worse – he turns to Legolas.

“What was growing up in Mirkwood like?” he asks, and Legolas internalises his sigh because actually, that is not as annoying a question as he was expecting and he should probably answer it. He’s going to be travelling with them for the foreseeable future; this is a good time to practise his diplomacy.

“I don’t remember much of it,” he says. Aragorn throws him a deeply incredulous look which he returns with his most subtle ‘don’t you _dare_ ’ lip-thin.

“I guess it was a long time ago,” Merry replies, taking a long drink from her waterskin.

“I’d never even considered the fact you were a child once,” Gimli adds, leaning back on his bedroll. “Bet you were cute.”

“If you think small beings are ‘cute’,” Legolas shrugs.

“Most folk do,” Boromir looks up from where she’s got her armoury all laid out, checking it over like she does every night even though they’d not needed to use it today. “Biological instinct to look after and protect them.”

Legolas very graciously does not make a comment about Boromir and her tendency to do just that when it comes to the Hobbits, despite the fact that they are apparently completely grown by the standards of their people.

“He was,” Aragorn speaks up finally, and everyone shifts to look at her. “I saw a sculpture once, in his father’s court.”

“You’ve been to Mirkwood?” Samwise asks, eyes rounded.

“Aye, years ago, soon after Legolas and I became friends. It was an enlightening trip.”

“Do go on,” Gimli shifts forward. “I am very interested.”

“His brothers were happy to tell me lots of stories,” Aragorn says. Legolas’ hands twitch towards his bow, and if he weren’t so irritated he’d be silently laughing at the shocked look on Boromir’s face at this evidence of Aragorn’s sense of humour. Aragorn might come across as ruthlessly capable and utterly terrifying, but Legolas knows all too well her endless love of trolling the unwary. “Apparently he really hated clothes as a child, to the point that when he realised they were pretty necessary he decided that trying to run away was a better option than putting on a tunic.”

“Maybe,” Legolas announces loftily, “we should talk about the time when Aragorn thought that the lily pads in Rivendell’s famous pools could hold her weight.”

Aragorn carries on, completely ignoring him, “And then, buck-ass naked, he had to be rescued from one of Mirkwood’s spiders.”

“That is not even _half_ as bad as some of the things Elladan and Elrohir have told me about you.”

“Bring it on,” Aragorn says, reclining back on her bedroll. Everyone else is leaning in like they can’t believe their luck.

“How about when you were on that campaign in Gondor’s army?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“I’m getting there,” Legolas shrugs, “Her fellow soldiers tried to take her to an Ithilien brothel, as is the way of Men, and she utterly baffled a poor working girl by reciting an Elvish ode to Beren and Luthien.”

Boromir starts laughing properly. “I would have _paid_ to have seen that.”

“I grew up in Rivendell,” Aragorn shoots back. “Brothels don’t exist amongst the Fair Folk.”

“Quite rightly,” Legolas mutters.

“Well,” Aragorn says, “When Legolas was about three years old, he’d somehow come to the conclusion that whoever had the biggest hat was the most important Elf. Just as he’d decided this, who rides into Mirkwood to attend the White Council but our very own Gandalf. Now I don’t know exactly what happened, but what I do know is that some hours into the Council there was heard a flustered guard trying to stop someone, the door shot open, and before Gandalf knows it, baby Legolas leapt over everyone’s heads, snatched Gandalf’s hat and vanished.”

“I don’t know why you think that is supposed to be embarrassing,” Legolas says snootily, tipping his nose up. “I am still proud of myself for that manoeuvre.”

“You’ve still _got_ that hat in your talan,” Aragorn jibes, “he kept it for _two thousand years._ ”

“You are _on,_ ” Legolas snaps, ignoring the way Gimli is laughing. He is not going to be out-trolled in front of that _Dwarf._ “There is no meat eaten amongst the Elves when we are not travelling, which is something that Men apparently cannot stand for. Aragorn, therefore, enlisted the help of the treacherous Lady Arwen and tried to stage a coup against Lord Elrond. Everything was going well until their plans were leaked. It all ended up with Aragorn making a complete embarrassment of herself in front of Lady Arwen, accidentally shot Lord Elrohir in the foot and ended up in the pond covered in horse shit.”

“You are _not_ supposed to know about that.” Aragorn is completely aghast. “Who told you?”

“I will not betray the confidences of the teller.”

“I was _seven_!”

“Does it matter?”

Aragorn’s mouth works like she’s making up her mind about something, and Legolas holds her gaze as a smirk settles around the edges of her mouth. He wonders, vaguely, if he should be worried.

“His father calls him ‘his little leaf’,” Aragorn tells the company at large, the smirk growing. “Do with that what you will.”

Several sets of eyes light up, and Gimli grins in a way that means Legolas is not going to get _any peace_ for the _entire rest of this journey._

“You are dead to me,” Legolas hisses at her in Elvish. She grins unrepentantly.

“Whatever you say, little leaf.”

**Author's Note:**

> On that note: hope everyone is doing ok with lockdown/pandemic, sending massive amounts of hugs worldwide, and if you ever need to talk you're welcome to reach out to me on Tumblr, I'm @if-fortunate.
> 
> (also thanks to my brother for contributing some of the stories included in this).


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